


Path to healing

by vanishing_apples



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, I just want my traumatised wind man on my ship, PTSD, implied shivagrim, post-post primal resonance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishing_apples/pseuds/vanishing_apples
Summary: Freyr survives the core assimilation ordeal and boards the Grancypher, but he’s not entirely happy with the situation. Grimnir tries to help.





	1. Chapter 1

Freyr squirms under inquisitive mismatched eyes, book open in his lap and somehow still eloquently read aloud despite his divided attention. It’s strange, he should be rejoicing over Grimnir’s attentiveness. But something in his gut just knows that his companion’s point of focus isn’t at all what he’s reading, but _him_. Being the locus of such acute scrutiny makes Freyr uneasy.

“...Is this work not to your liking?” - He asks after a thoughtfully placed pause.

“Huh…? Oh, n-not at all!” - Grimnir stammers. - “Ahem! What complaints have I for such literary splendour!? And delivered with a tone dulcet as yours, even the most menial, tiresome of texts is akin to crisp, melodious knells ferried on a spring bree-”

“I hear you!” - His cheeks warm, Freyr cuts Grimnir’s poetics just short of stumbling into the uncomfortable territory of awkward, unwitting romance. - “...But then is something else on your mind?”

For once Grimnir shows indication of mulling on his words before speaking, only to ultimately withhold them. Wearing the same perplexing expression, the wind primarch’s disciple inches closer and rests his chin on the sleeping Gullinbursti’s head. 

Freyr instinctively shrinks. 

“Grimnir...?” - He swallows, erecting a barrier with the closed book to partially conceal his face. - “...Would you rather we engage in some other activity? What do the other primals do for recreation on this ship?”

Grimnir’s eyes shimmer with glee.

“Tons’a stuff! I like reading the most, but my next favourite thing - and probably the most popular thing to do among our kind by the way - is spar…”

Teeth sink into Grimnir’s lower lip - consequence of trying to stop his ill-chosen words too forcefully and untimely. His pained, reflexive knee jerk jolts Gullinbursti awake and prompts the agitated beast to stir with discomfort. 

Two months have passed since they extracted him from the mangled hellscape of assimilated consciousness within Geo, and Freyr still shies from interaction with most of their crew’s members. Mortal ones, specifically. Centuries worth of senseless violence are not so soon forgotten and forgiven. The unseen scars left in their wake were carved deepest, capable of injecting the most benevolent of souls with contempt. Apprehension remains in crystalised granules, even as Freyr’s animosity has largely evaporated.

The mere suggestion of sparring as a recreational activity to him, of all people, is nothing short of callousness. Grimnir curses himself in spite of his friend’s ever serene, deceptively solemn visage which betrays no emotion.

“F-forget that, though!! We can… uh… uhm…!” 

“We can spar, if you feel like it.”

There it is. Freyr smiles, but the smile never reaches his eyes - a gesture of resignation which Grimnir so terribly dreads. Their history together has taught him the telltale signs of whenever Freyr disregards his own will in favour of preserving amity. 

As both someone who has permanently been delegated the task of caring for newcomers (for some unfathomable reason) and a friend, Grimnir believes he has a duty to get Freyr as well-adjusted as possible, not guilt-trip him into doing something he would undoubtedly hate.

“No! We are _not_ doing that! Instead let’s… uh…”

There is the overdue tour of the ship, but that entails risking Freyr to unwanted encounters with skydwellers. That danger applies to just about every other onboard activity Grimnir can think of, though...

“Grimnir, it’s alright. You can just leave me be and go do whatever-”

“Aaarggh!!” 

With a frustrated cry, Grimnir springs up from Gullinbursti’s great mane to go dig two hooded mantles out of Freyr’s assigned closet. Slipping into one and flinging the other over his confused friend, Grimnir actualises his determination to get Freyr _out_ and _off_ the ship as quickly as possible. 

“Sorry, Gullie! I’ll give him back before sundown!” - Grimnir virtually yells at the boar’s very vocal protest to its master’s abduction.

“Grimnir! Where are we going!?” - Still bewildered as he’s dragged by the arm, Freyr nearly stumbles on their way out.

Grimnir neither bothers to look back nor adjust his volume.

“We’re gonna look for stuff you like!!” 

\---

Whether by a stroke of luck or Grimnir’s deliberate consideration, the streets upon which they have descended are sparsely occupied. 

Shadows slant and drag across the cobblestones, pooling at the feet of peculiar structures superficially similar to but are in fact, Freyr recognises, so unlike the fire-licked standards seared into his war memories. They stand upright, with ornamental fixtures at the top draping light over the dimming streets, so radiant one would think they have stars plucked right out of the sky and trapped in their cubicle, metal frames. 

Mesmerised, Freyr fails to notice his hood threatening to slide down to his shoulders.

“Street lamps! Pretty nifty, huh?” - Grimnir exclaims, his hand quickly moving to adjust Freyr’s hood.

“‘Nifty’ indeed…” - His anxiety overtaken by inquisitiveness, Freyr’s eyes stay glued to a street lamp even as they move past it. 

“And it’s just _one_ of the children of men’s countless inventions! Just you wait, the ones lining the little road to that temple we’re headed for are even cooler looking. The book’s illustrations barely do them justice, you’ll see. I heard those date back from the time before the Astrals or… Freyr?”

Grimnir’s feet slow to a halt when he feels slight resistance from the hand by which he’s been leading Frey. 

The other primal has come to a complete stop, now staring at a blackboard outside of a restaurant. Scrawled in colourful chalk, a menu of daily specialties sits at the board’s center, framed by charmingly childish illustrations of the listed dishes. Freyr studies each element of the board’s content with the same care he would a book of ancient runes.

Leaning reclining forward so their eyes meet without Freyr having to lift his hood, Grimnir whispers.

“Are you hungry?”

“Huh? N… No.” - Freyr snaps out of his trance blubbering. - “I was… momentarily distracted by the strange, bewitching aroma wafting about this place. I apologise.”

Freyr is too busy hiding under his hood from shame to tell, but the grin stretching to Grimnir’s ears is borne out of genuine gladness rather than mockery. 

“N’aw, don’t apologise! Food is awesome! We can totally get some grub about now, actually… I mean… Excellent choice, my comrade! As a regular of this establishment, I can testify to its products’ stupendous quality!! You will never find crepes thinner or more buttery rich elsewhere across this skydom! Come, let us…”

Freyr’s eyes droop again, signaling Grimnir to refrain from grabbing his hand. A small “oh” of realisation escapes the latter’s lips, hurriedly followed by Grimnir clearing his throat. 

“On second thought... Wait here. I’ll be back with the goods in a jiffy, promise!!”

Any protests Freyr may have, the bell hung atop the restaurant’s door promptly extinguishes with its merry chimes. Swift as the gales he so often boasts, has Grimnir vanished in a silver flash. 

Freyr is suddenly left alone to encroaching dusk. In a fervent attempt to distract himself from the anxiety, his roaming eyes once again find the blackboard. A closer look brings to his attention bits of coloured chalk sitting on a shallow tray mounted at the board’s base. Despite the amount he has read on skydwellers record-keeping, Freyr realises he has never actually seen, let alone handle chalk in his long life.

The primal beast crouches down for better inspection of the unfamiliar objects. Head tilted in curiosity, he picks up a chalk piece and rolls it between his fingers. The texture is alien but not unwelcome: a smooth cylinder, astonishingly dry yet its flaky residue persistently clings to wherever it touches his skin. It feels firm, but the moment he exerts some force in an attempt to write on the board, the morsel crumbles to dust. 

The chalk’s fragility leaves him stupefied for a good minute. Questions flood his head the moment it regains some capacity for scrutiny. How can something so _brittle_ be crafted into shape, let alone used as a writing instrument? With which skills and what degree of dexterity can one wield them for the task? Surely, a kind so liberal in their exercise of ruthless, excessive force as skydwellers can never...

“Heed my triumphant return! With spoils!” - Grimnir’s singsong voice interrupts Freyr’s rumination.

“Ah… Welcome back.” - Freyr dusts himself off standing up. His hand is quickly occupied by more objects of curiosity, ones emanating the exact aroma that halted his steps in the first place, no less. - “So these are… crepes?”

“Yep!” - Grimnir cheerfully hands his friend one of the fruit and cream filled pastries. - “Best of their kind. Uhm… I didn’t know what you’d like so I got us both the one I think is most delicious!”

“Thank you.” - With a small, grateful smile, Freyr spins the seemingly ornate, conical structure in his hands. - “...Excuse me but, from where shall I…”

“Oh, right. Just start eating from wherever you like! There’s really no right way to attacking crepes, y’know. Err… What was that expression Shiva used… Go ham?”

Their long separation has indeed resulted in a need for Freyr to update on Grimnir’s ever amassing, ever more colourful vocabulary. With a self-reminder to do just that later, Freyr proceeds to ‘go ham’ as vaguely instructed, taking a sizeable bite of whichever component is most aromatic. 

Grimnir intently watches Freyr eat his first mouthful of crepes, vigilant of his friend’s minutest reaction which his own face subconsciously mirrors. Their eyes grow wide with delight in unison, shimmering as Freyr chews through most of the bite. But their joy takes a sudden nosedive when he fights a gag reflex trying to swallow. A small coughing fit ensues to the effect of Grimnir’s panic.

“Are you okay!? Oh man I’m so sorry! Come on, grab onto me, we’re heading back to the shi-”

“That…” - A wheeze punctuates the end to Freyr’s coughing. - “...won’t be necessary. It’s just… some component in there… burns? I’m afraid the word is inadequate in describing he property. It was simply not a sensation I was familiar with or prepared for...”

“Burn? Oh…” - Grimnir guiltily scratches the back of his head. - “Drats, I forgot about the spices… Should’ve got you something other than apple pie filling. Mister owner can get a little crazy with his cinnamon.”

Freyr tries to reassure Grimnir through a veil of tears. 

“No harm done. Aside from that, this really is an unrivaled piece of confectionery as you claimed… Though I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish it all.”

“Good thing I still haven’t taken a bite out of mine, then!” - Grimnir huffs, comically proud of his incidental self-restraint. - “I’ll go tell them to switch mine for something else you can eat, wait-“

“No!!”

Freyr’s outburst startles them both. The nebulous mental image of confrontation between Grimnir and the faceless skydweller - master of the establishment - has prompted the volatile reaction even before his mind fully registered it. 

Confrontation. His treachery thoughts begin to wander back. _Far_ back. To anger, screeching steel and roaring flames. 

His hands tremble, almost dropping the dessert. Freyr feels choked up not by spices, but some unseen cold tendril coiling around his neck.

“Freyr…” - Still bewildered, Grimnir gingerly guides his distraught companion towards the restaurant’s waiting bench lining its outer wall. 

“I didn’t mean to…” - Freyr frantically shakes his head as if to free himself of his own mind’s fabrications. He has to, before it spins out of control and forcefully subject him to far crueler sights. - “Please don’t… stir up conflict for my sake…”

“Freyr, it’s okay. I’ll be okay. It’s just food.”

“Yes, you’re right…”

They sit in total silence for some time, allowing trauma to slink back into some deep, dark crevice of Freyr’s psyche and at the very least, out of sight. With calm but steely resolve, Grimnir starts once he feels Freyr’s trembling to have considerably subsided.

“I’m gonna get you those crepes, Freyr.”

“You really don’t have to.” - Freyr weakly voices dissent while knowing full well of the deed’s futility.

“Nuh uh, I’m going in. This is my fault in the first place. Besides!”

He needn’t even confirm with his own eyes to tell that Grimnir is no longer sitting, or that his rambunctious friend now has his foot on the bench. Poor etiquette for sure, but it still makes Freyr’s shoulders quiver with a suppressed chuckle. 

“Not all confrontations breed strife. In fact, the majority of them don’t! Even in warfare, peaceful negotiation plays a pivotal role. Don’t you dare think so lightly of I, the War Cyclone, who has emerged victorious from a myriad of conflicts, including once which saw no bloodshed!! Leave it to me to overcome this ordeal as I have its countless antecedents!”

Freyr’s amusement at the theatrics, evident from the soft chuckles bubbling past his lips, only emboldens Grimnir and plasters on his face the toothiest of grins. He was only half embellishing his comments about how nice Freyr’s voice is. In joy, it takes on an even more mellifluous quality.

“Have no fear, I’ll be back even quicker than before! You’ll see!”

This shouldn’t be as ludicrously dramatic as it is. Freyr already feels like he’s seeing Grimnir off on some grand pilgrimage from which return is a definitive uncertainty. But pulled along by his friend’s pace, he ends up giving his nonverbal approval. The single nod is enough for Grimnir to disappear in a flash once more before appropriate farewells are uttered on Freyr’s end.

He does make good on the promise of a swift return, however. Grimnir comes dashing out of the restaurants less than three minutes later, arms full of crepes. Three cones, to be exact. 

“Grimnir!?” - Freyr rushes to help Grimnir with holding the pastries. - “How did you…”

“Thanks! I thought bargaining would keep you waiting too long, is all. Plus you probably wouldn’t like the idea of it… So I just ended up buying new ones and keeping the one I already have!”

“I… I see…” - Freyr lies. He sees no logic in this outcome. - “But then wouldn’t that make three?”

“Yeah!” - Grimnir replies matter of factly. - “The third one is on the house. I told mister owner the circumstances and he said it’d be weird and guilt-trippy for you to have only one to eat while I scarf down two.”

“‘On the house’?”

“Yep! Means they gave it to us for free! Out of kindness y’know.”

‘Kindness’... The word’s association with skydweller kind struggles to hold against the murky, corrosive fog of presumptions within Freyr’s mind at first, but it perseveres. The shadows of violence keep him largely incredulous, and yet the solid proof of mortal generosity in his hands persuades Freyr to at least begin entertaining the notion. 

Sinking back into deep contemplation, he barely notices Grimnir pulling him back on his feet.

“Mm’kay! Off we go, then! These are snack foods meant to be eaten on the go, after all. And we’d better get to that temple before it closes for the day.”

“R-right.” 

More hesitantly this time, Freyr nibbles a small corner of a cone as he’s lead by Grimnir back into the artificially lit streets. The milder, natural sweetness of wild berries fill his mouth, thankfully unaccompanied by the imposing presence of spices like his last crepe experience. 

“So how is it?” - Grimnir asks nervously.

“...It’s delicious.” - Freyr smiles through a small mustache of cream.


	2. Chapter 2

Grimnir and Freyr arrive at the temple to a sizeable congregation of skydwellers, all joined in solemn worship. Despite their number, the lantern-lit courtyard is steeped in a weighty silence which folds over its occupants with the gentle veil of night. The tranquility almost makes Freyr feel secure enough to venture the thought of slipping among the worshippers for better observation. 

“Drats! I forgot they’re offering tonight!” - Grimnir exclaims in whispers. - “Guess we’ll have to look on from afar…”

“Distant observation is fine.” - Thankful to be alerted to his own false sense of security, Freyr’s fingers tighten around his cloak. 

“Sorry. I really should’ve thought this whole outing thing through... We could just go somewhere-”

“Shhh.”

Grimnir mumbles a tiny, muffled ‘right’ into the hand Freyr’s brought over his mouth before he is dragged into the shadows. 

They do end up staying for the majority of the service, leaving as soon as they are done scrutinising the courtyard’s tall, imposing marble pillars over which drape ceremonial tapestries. 

Retracing their steps down the stone staircase etched into a mountainside, Freyr’s train of thought strays from Grimnir’s animated yet lengthy explanation of the custom’s history to whatever he’s just witnessed. 

He finds it all quite incomprehensible. Somehow even from a distance, the atmosphere has managed to instill within him an unmistakable peace - the kind for which his heart’s fervent yearning once motivated him to tolerate immeasurable cruelty. How ironic would it be for that peace to be so easily found among those his personified will once sought to destroy? 

The seed of guilt lodged his parched heart, sown by his first exposure to something previously so inconceivable as the kindness of mortals, begins to germinate. 

“...And _that’s_ why those tapestries had a guy fighting a big snail on it… Freyr? Are you listening?”

“...Oh, excuse me.” 

He should ask Grimnir to lay off the intense staring, especially from below like he currently does. With the head tilt, staring right into where his hood opens up and Freyr feels most vulnerable… one day. He might need a couple more years to practice asking for things. 

“That’s alright. If you’re tired we can go take a breather at this rest house here. Talk about lucky!”

Freyr nods in approval without much thinking, and Grimnir eagerly begins pulling his friend towards the structure which sits among the trees, at the end of a small stone path branching off horizontally from the staircase. 

The moment they enter, however, Grimnir wishes he hadn’t. Had he spared one moment to _think_ about the obviously lit windows, he would have known it to be occupied and steered Freyr elsewhere.

“Oh crud…” - Comes Grimnir defeated sigh as he buries his face into one hand. 

“It’s him!!” - A boy idling by the door perks up in cheers. 

Responding to his cue, the other children within the house begin to flock around Grimnir who has barely even crossed the threshold.

“He’s back! The windy… windy…” 

“The windswept wanderer!!”

“Yeah that’s it! It’s been forever!”

“Welcome back, Windman! Where’ve you been for ages!?”

“Did you bring more stories!?”

Grimnir slowly backs away from the excited crowd ebbing towards him only to bump against an alarmed Freyr clinging to him by the tail of his cloak, presumably spooked by the sudden clamour. His escape routes effectively barred front and back, Grimnir stutters, arms raised in frantic effort to conceal both parties from each other’s sight. 

“G-g-greetings, my adherents! Am I delighted to see your sprightly faces still in good health! Alas, the unforgiving squalls of fate that brought me from your midst beckon still!! Ya’ see as much as we’d love to stay…”

“Who’s ‘we’?” - A small girl blinks quizzically.

“Shoot!!” - His distress swells into full blown panic. - “I meant ‘I’! Yeah! It’s just me I swear!!”

“Who’s that, then?” 

Grimnir whirls around but is met only by his own shadow. Panic becomes horror, as Freyr has vanished from his back to materialise right in front of him the following split second - shoulders stiff and one hand unmistakably snaking towards the concealed dagger at his side.

But before Grimnir could react, those whom Freyr perceives as a threat to his friend have beaten him to the punch.

“Windman brought a friend!”

“Are you a minstrel too, mister? Can you tell us new stories!?”

Oblivious, the children’s cheers erupt anew at the prospect of a new playmate. The amplified clamour only further distresses and confuses Freyr, whom Grimnir has to drag back outside by one arm and partially shield behind his back again.

“Shhh it’s okay! They don’t mean us any harm!” - Grimnir turns from pacifying Freyr to appeasing the kids. - “Hey, hey! Leave him alone! I’m serious!”

The cheers die down near instantaneously when Grimnir raises his voice. Silence settles over them, granting Freyr time to calm down and the children’s high energy to fizzle out considerably. 

At the youngest faces’ frowns, Grimnir lets out a sigh. 

“...Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. But my friend is tired from the long trip and we really are in a hurry to be somewhere.”

“Aww… You really can’t stay? But it’s been so long…”

“Yeah, we missed you n’ stuff…”

“Plus we can really use some adult supervision while our folks get on with the worshipping, y’know.”

Grimnir bites his lip. When they put it that way, leaving suddenly seems downright unethical. Not that Grimnir himself does not appreciate the company of his little friends. He genuinely does but right now, there is something more paramount.

His thoughts come to a sudden halt upon being pulled aside by said paramount concern. 

“I’m not tired, Grimnir.” - Freyr says, his voice calm as can be.

His unexpected composure baffles Grimnir.

“...Is that your way of saying it’s okay to stay...? You seriously want to?”

Freyr’s mouth hangs open briefly, as if his words all but disintegrate halfway rolling off his tongue. Another unfamiliar, but not unpleasant, emotion wells up in his chest and he struggles to process it, let alone convert it into verbal expression. 

“...I do? I guess I do.”

“But Freyr…! You’re really cool with being surrounded by children of men? You don’t have to stay for my sake or anything.”

“I am ‘cool’.” - Navigating his own emotional reactions may still be a daunting exercise, but as he gropes blindly in the fog, Freyr can at least feel himself _curious_ again. - “This is… my own will. My wish to learn more.”

Grimnir is still dumbfounded by these unexpected development. Unexpected, but not unwelcome, however. He has never been one to count or question his blessings, and Freyr seemingly at ease once more is no exception to that principle.

“Gotcha. Then we’re staying.” - Still somewhat uneasy, Grimnir makes a mental note to keep a watchful eye out for any signs of discomfort from Freyr later. - “Oh, but… do remember that we’re ‘minstrels’ right now.”

“Understood.” - Freyr nods, seemingly more spirited as they make their way back to the children.

“Alright, we can stay a bit.” - Grimnir’s declaration immediately entails explosive cheers. - “But only if you promise to be super quiet and not bother my friend! You don’t want to give him a headache, do you?”

“No, sir. Certainly not.” - The words are uttered and repeated in cacophony.

“Good! Then onwards, my adherents!!”

“Practice what ya’ preach, Windy.”

“Oops. Right, sorry!”

Their laughter flows into the undulating sphere of warm candlelight.

—-

Keeping himself as close to a wall as possible isn’t very effective in terms of avoiding attention, Freyr finds. The cottage is so small that practically every inch of ground or flat furniture is occupied by someone, so he ends up surrounded anyway. 

Fortunately as per Grimnir’s request, the children do make an effort to give Freyr some semblance of respectful distance. Against the farthest wall from the center, he sits in the middle of a laughably slim circle of empty space for which he is nonetheless appreciative.

Freyr doesn’t actually need to do anything to avoid scrutiny, in reality. Grimnir, who stands at the very center of the room playing storyteller, commands everyone’s attention. His vigour is infectious. The children mimic his expressions, make little noises of awe at dramatic plot points and some more engaged kids even join him in illustrating the story with their theatrics, which Grimnir wholeheartedly encourages and builds his narrative upon.

Freyr never realises when his anxieties have all but dissipated like morning mist before the radiance of their combined energy. For just a moment, his very sense of self falters, along with all the scars, scabs and bitter resentment that cling to it. For a transient moment, his hand slacks from keeping close to his hip. Freyr almost buys into the hope of this peace he has barely witnessed spilling out of the cottage into the rest of the cold world beyond its door. 

The stream of welcome distraction tapers to a halt when Grimnir suddenly stops, leaning down to have a child who just tugged on his cloak tell him something in whispers. 

From where he sits, Freyr can only make out his friend sinking momentarily into the crowd of children at his feet only to emerge with a somewhat troubled expression. He mirrors Grimnir’s mild apprehension when the latter unexpectedly begins closing in on him followed by a small group of young girls. 

“Is… something the matter?” - Freyr asks, voice lowered cautiously.

“Nope. Nothing’s wrong! Actually... Well…” - Grimnir scoots closer to Freyr while struggling to keep his volume down. - “Uhm… Some little ones just made a request to you, but they didn’t want to disturb you so they went through me instead. You can totally decline if you don’t feel like it, though!” 

Freyr stops a chuckle timely with a raised fist to his lips.

“I need to hear the request first, Grimnir.”

“Oh, right. So the girls here think your hair is super pretty. They’ve been admiring it for the past hour.”

“They have?” - Freyr’s eyes widen in surprise. He really lost track of not only himself but his surroundings.

“Y-yeah! And they said they’d love to style if for you, brushing and braiding and stuff. Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

Grimnir gulps, his eyes glued to Freyr for any indication of an unspoken refusal. The immediate lack of any seems a good start, but Grimnir’s breath remains trapped in his chest.

Just as he is about to repeat the constant reminder that saying no is a perfectly acceptable response, Freyr speaks up.

“...If they don’t intend any harm and you are certain of the fact, I really don’t mind.”

It is Grimnir’s turn to stifle a laugh.

“Of course not! They’re children! Mortal and fragile children. Well, they can be kind of a handful sometimes… but don’t you fret! I’ll put a stop to their hubris the very second they start bothering you!”

“I see. I’m curious as to how you plan to go about doing that, though.”

“Er…” - Grimnir twists his fingers. Obviously, he has not thought that plan through either, as he did not various previous arrangements within the same evening. - “I’ll… I’ll just stop the stories and we’ll leave! Yeah! We will take off for friendlier skies, my valued comrade!”

Freyr fights his lips’ urge to curl into a teasing smile.

“Did you not agree to grant them protection until their parents return?” 

“Oh… I did.”

Frey doesn’t even mind that his soft but unrestrained hortles are attracting more than a few curious pairs of eyes, his amusement only amplified when Grimnir’s cheeks puff out slightly in a pout.

“I’m sorry. I kid. You don’t need to tread on eggshells for my sake, Grimnir. I will be fine.”

“...Really?”

“Yes. Well... I would be lying if I said that I am… at my full capacity for tolerance, so to speak. But I do know that for the time being, I have never been more at ease in centuries. So thank you.”

Grimnir’s trapped breath finally exits him in a relieved sigh.

“That’s good. Still, do tell if you need anything, though! Even if you’re just sleepy.”

“Alright.”

Approval gained on the girls’ behalf, Grimnir goes to relay the information to their delight before returning to his spot. 

Freyr watches, with considerably less caution, as the children eagerly fill in the circle of empty space that was around him. He sits near motionless, body language denoting neither explicit openness nor resistance, but allows them to gingerly peel the hood from his head. 

The little noises of appreciation and their hushed chatters seem markedly louder than even Grimnir’s booming at first, but Freyr’s alertness eventually dulls. Tolerance becomes acceptance. At some point, he even starts to feel welcoming of the small fingers sinking into his cascading black hair, prying apart thick, lustrous locks and soft bristles being mindfully dragged along their lengths. Having his hair brushed is surprisingly pleasant for sure, but Freyr is most appreciative of their consideration to not strike up unnecessary conversation. Contrary to Grimnir’s half-warning, nothing of their behaviour is close to being ‘a handful’. 

But being so at ease causes Freyr to lower his defenses. His finally noticing a stray draft against an exposed earlobe comes too late, and so does the reaction it entails. Alarm pumps instant wakefulness through his veins, pulling him sharply away from the child closest to his side. Her hand releases the lock of hair that was covering his ear, but not before her friends have also borne witness to its tapered, decidedly non-human form.

“You…” - Cold panic grips Freyr when he finds no effective escape route.

“Shhh. It’s okay!” - The girl tries to whisper her reassurance loud enough for his ears without closing in on him. - “We kind of expected you’d be a primal beast as well anyway, and that’s alright!”

“...as well?” - The primal beast responds shakily.

“Yeah!”

“We all know Windy is a primal beast, since he’s just that terrible at hiding it.” - Another girl chimes in, giggling. - “He just doesn’t know that we know.”

“You should’ve seen the dust storms he kicked up last time he was in town.”

“Heheh. What kind of minstrel has a glowing eye and just accidentally flies sometimes?”

No longer fumbling for an escape route, Freyr sits dumbfounded as Grimnir’s primal beast powers-related mishaps are relayed to him one after another in hushed, conspiratorial voices. 

Grimnir got overly excited and leapt into the air to catch a shuttlecock while playing with them once, pulled clouds over them to soften the harsh afternoon sunlight on another occasion, rode off on a vortex of fallen leaves instead of walking away yet another time. The children questioned him at first, to which he provided pitiable excuses and hoped they would forget. They never did, and neither did the adults of the town who also bore witness to such events. Everyone ultimately came to the conclusion that he was a well-meaning primal beast who had granted their community his grace. But in reality, Grimnir is treated less as a deity but more a whimsical local babysitter with special powers. 

Calling Freyr’s reaction awestruck would be a vast understatement. 

“...But then why do you let him maintain the charade of being a mortal minstrel?” - He asks the moment he regains the ability to string together coherent words.

“Why not? We might not know why he insists on hiding his identity but Windy seems to have fun with the act, so there’s no reason to rain on his parade.”

So the cover is not out of concern for their safety as primal beasts, but borne of Grimnir’s amusement. Even more astonishingly, these mortals’ acceptance of Grimnir’s true identity even extends to the indulgence of his whims. And now they seem just as eager to accept Freyr in the same fashion.

“So yeah! We really don’t care if you guys are primal beasts.” - The girl who was at Freyr’s side smiles before raising a finger to her lips. - “But do keep your blown cover a secret from Windy, please? We’d hate to see him mope.” 

There is definitely some irony to being told to keep quiet as someone who has valued silence and tranquility above all else. Still struggling to grapple with the revelation, Freyr can only nod. As he rummages for words, the child has regained her close proximity to him from before. He no longer tries try to move away.

“Uhm… It’d be such a waste to not do a side braid for you, I think. But if you don’t want to expose your ear, I think we can hide it with a decoration or something.”

“Will this do?” - Another child pulls something out of her pinafore pouch. 

The object is held up to the side of Freyr’s head, causing many pair of eyes to gather in front of him to scrutinise its placement. The primal beast turns towards the decoration to avoid eye contact, finding it to be a large, muted lime green ribbon as he does. 

“Oooh perfect. It really complements our eyes.” - The ribbon’s owner exclaims.

\---

The cover of night facilitates their discreet return. Not that there are many among the crew still awake and roaming, but Grimnir is thankful that they only have the nightwatch to slip past and into the ship’s bowels regardless. The single row of burning lanterns provide just enough light for the primal beasts to navigate their way back to Freyr’s room, but somehow still allow for Vyrn and Lyria - whose heights dip below their lines of sight - to bump into them. 

“Woah! Careful!” - Grimnir catches the falling girl with one arm.

“Ah…! We’re so sorry!” - Lyria wobbles a little as she gets back on her feet. - “Th- thank you, Grimnir. And good evening!”

“It’s no biggie, and hello to you guys, too!” - Grimnir helps steady her with a grin. - “Uh… Whatcha’ doing out so late, though?”

“Same to you. Where’d you disappear to all day?” - The little dragon huffs, fluttering in between his companion and the primal beast. - “Cinders and his snake pal were _this_ close to zooming off looking for you. And they very well would’ve if we hadn’t told ‘em sneaking off to hang somewhere occasionally was just your thing.”

Grimnir’s cheeks ripen to a deep magenta, perceivable even under the dim lighting.

“I- I’ll have you know that I don’t _sneak_! Anyway… We had some private business to attend to, that’s all!”

“We? That means…”

“Ah…” - Spying Freyr behind Grimnir, Lyria calls out to him somewhat sheepishly when their eyes meet, but expects little in terms of a reply. - “G… good evening, Freyr! So you really were accompanying Grimnir.”

“Yep! We er… went to get some fresh air but ended up on sorta an adventure and it was fun!”

Grimnir quickly chimes in out of pure habit to shelter Freyr from interaction with mortals, but Freyr’s nod is fortunately not lost on Lyria, whose detection of the nonverbal response sparks a joyful glimmer in her widened eyes. It is a simple nod, but she can definitely feel something much more significant unfurling behind the gesture. 

Lyria decides to further test her luck.

“That’s great! Why don’t you two tell us all about the adventure at Raduga? We were on our way there ourselves!”

The invitation prompts a quizzical blink from Freyr, albeit directed at Grimnir instead of Lyria. She counts his piqued curiosity as a good response nonetheless.

“Oh! It’s where everyone comes for late night snacks.” - Grimnir provides his enthusiastic explanation. - “Ladiva, one of ours who runs the place, makes suuuper tasty snacks. And she’s the nicest!”

“Yeah! Plus, she’s been looking forward to meeting our newest primal beast member for ages! So what'dya say, Silken Locks?” - Vyrn cheerfully contributes to the coaxing effort. 

“Uhm, no pressure, of course. If you would rather go rest early instead…” 

Lyria’s anxiety mounts with each passing second, only to culminate in delight when Freyr opens his mouth to speak his very first words to her. It deflates considerably, however, when the words do reach her ears.

“I think I will retire. Gullinbursti has been left alone for long enough.”

“...Ah. Sorry. My fault for that.” - Grimnir scratches his head, apologetic as he is oblivious to Vyrn and Lyria’s awe at finally hearing his friend’s voice after months.

Lyria knew better than to expect immediate acceptance of camaraderie from Freyr, and yet she still couldn’t help but hope. But one rejection to a spontaneous proposal does not a complete refusal for friendship make. His heart may remain largely guarded, but him talking to them at all is already a huge leap forward. She doesn’t know yet what transpired during the duo’s shirt trip, but the girl is somehow certain it is responsible for the faintest sliver of warmth in Freyr’s voice.

“Aw shucks... I guess Windy can bring you something later.” - Vyrn’s ears droop in disappointment. - “Come next time, though! Ladiva’s cooking is gonna blow your pants right off!”

Grimnir interjects with a hearty yawn. 

“Actually, you two go on ahead. I think I’ll join Freyr hitting the hay.”

“Join him? Why not go back to your own room, Windy?”

“Guh… B-because Gullinbursti is just really nice to sleep against, okay!? We’ll be off, then! Enjoy your snacks and tell Ladiva I say hello!”

“Yes. See you… next time?” - Freyr manages his greeting before his companion begins dragging him deeper into the halls. - “...Though I would appreciate a lack of pants blowing.”

A small pause precedes Grimnir stopping dead in his tracks. Then comes his, Lyria and Vyrn’s simultaneous bursting into laughter. 

“Sure. It’s a promise, Silken Locks!” 

“Thank you. Good night, you two!” - Lyria calls out to the retreating primal beasts, one of whom is doing a precarious job leading his befuddled friend by the arm with eyes squeezed shut from laughing fits. 

Even before silence once again permeates the hall, Lyria has begun coming up with takeout requests to Ladiva that she may bring to Freyr’s room later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Grimnir has completely forgotten his promise to Gullinbursti about bringing Freyr home before ~~curfew~~ sundown.


End file.
